Week 10: A Rant About LGBT+ Rights

I’ve been thinking about doing this post since our class discussion weeks ago about how older gay men react to the relative freedom of expression younger gay men have today. We discussed this topic briefly after reading David Sedaris’ piece “Road Trips”, but it hasn’t left my mind in the ensuing weeks. In “Road Trips”, Sedaris describes the way a fifteen-year-old boy refers to a man as a “her” and openly identifies himself as gay, and remarks “When I was this kid’s age, you’d be burned alive for such talk. Being a homosexual was unthinkable, and so you denied it” (65). Sedaris' shock after encountering a young man who is open about his sexuality made me think about just how much bigotry and hate the LGBT+ community has dealt with in the past and how much they are still dealing with.

            The 20^th century, the period David Sedaris grew up in, was a kind of boiling point of hate, fear, and discrimination against the LGBT+ community. From the way gay men and lesbian women were targeted along with others who didn’t fit the Aryan standard in WWII, to the Stonewall riots, to the HIV/AIDS epidemic and the hysteria that surrounded it, members of the LGBT+ community were constantly under threat in the 20^th century. To expound on just one of these awful events: Think of the panic surrounding COVID-19, then multiply that panic by 10,000, then add intense discrimination and bigotry, and you will have an inkling of an idea of what the environment during the height of the HIV/AIDS epidemic was like. The hate that came to a boil in the 20^th century has somewhat lessened, but it is still ever present today.

            The reason for that envy and fascination that Sedaris felt when seeing how a fifteen-year-old was able to proudly identify himself as gay can be understood when one remembers the long road LGBT+ people have traveled to gain the level of acceptance they have today. Every time I hear or read about an older member of the LGBT+ community experiencing what life is like for LGBT+ people today, I have a curious mix of emotions. On one hand, I’m ecstatic that these older LGBT+ people have lived to see monumental change in many places around the world concerning how their community is treated and accepted. On the other hand, I’m filled with immense anger, bitterness, and sadness for those people in the LGBT+ community who dealt with nothing but pain, ridicule, hate, and shame in their lifetime, and didn’t live to see change. The people who had to hide who they were and lie about their identity. The people who had no rights as a human being because of who they loved or what gender they identified as. The people who faced bigotry and hate everyday undefended by people in authority or established laws that we have today.

            This was more of a rant than a coherent and thesis-driven post, but I wanted to get some emotions out on this topic. No one can change the past, yet I can’t stop driving myself insane thinking about all the pain the LGBT+ community has suffered with for centuries. I’m so glad David Sedaris and other members of the LGBT+ community have received some basic human rights, and the treatment of LGBT+ people has improved in so many ways. It’s wonderful that change is possible, even though it’s a little slow.

           

Oh, Those Are the Feronys?

            I am in love with my mother. You know Freud with his Oedipus complex nonsense? Well, he got it at least in my case. My mother is the most beautiful, kindhearted woman on this planet (which is a bold thing to say especially in this class). However, despite my undying love for my mother and my father’s relentless push for me to succeed, providing help whenever necessary, the people I am most excited to see when I go home are my three younger brothers.

            I have told people in my life before that, for whatever reason, the thing I look forward to most when it comes to marriage planning is picking my groomsmen. My lineup when it comes time will be that of the New York Yankees in the 1920s, including Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig. Matt is my Lou Gehrig, my rock that I can count on whenever I need a friend and he will be my best man. Adam is my Babe Ruth. He is a powerful force to be reckoned with and will put one to the fences if you just ask him nicely. He will be my second-in-command. Jason is my faithful first baseman. His job isn’t the hardest, but it is absolutely necessary. He will put all his effort into any job you give him, and he’ll do it with passion because he’s always wanted to please his older brothers. He will be my third. There are other great men in my life who I am excited to notify of the honor of being part of this army of tried and true men, but none compare when facing the Ferony boys.

            David Sedaris wrote about his brother who referred to himself as The Rooster. His brother is perfectly eccentric and loving, exactly the way you’d want a sit-com character to be. My brothers are collectively The Rooster. Matt is my best friend. He’s twenty months younger than me so, in my opinion, there wasn’t enough time for sibling rivalry to set in. At that time, I was still trying to grasp the idea that I could pick up practically anything with my thumb and forefingers, never noticing the person who had begun living with us. Adam was different. Adam is more like that scar a lot of people have right next to their eye. They hated it when they were younger, but it’s been around for so long that you’ve grown to love it. He messed up the awesome two peas in a pod dynamic that Matt and I had going for almost four years then, so it took a while for us to account for his presence. Adam and I are movie fanatics and he is perhaps the most excited when I return from college (giving Kelly, the doggo, a run for her money). Jason is the youngest and he was more of a surprise than anything else. He is eight years younger than me so, while my mom was pregnant, I got to take part in the naming conversations. At this point, I think my parents were running out of ideas. They hadn’t picked a name until they brought Jason home from the hospital. I still don’t love the name, but I love him, so everything worked out. I also began to call him simply “J” and my family followed suit.

            To everyone on the outside, we are the troublemaking boys that must be making our poor mother’s life a living hell. We do. But I think she thought we were so cute when were young that she couldn’t get rid of us opting for our far less rambunctious female counterparts. I am almost twenty-one years old and I will never say that I hate any of my siblings (which is a good thing). One thing I do hate is the way sibling relationships are portrayed in the media. Siblings always hate each other. If siblings are expected to hate each other, then, of course, they are going to learn to hate each other. I am very excited to see my brothers again over the course of the spring break. I miss them, almost as much as I’ll miss you my girls in HNRS 389.

Week 9: Memento mulier

In David Sedaris' "Memento Mori," he describes the odd “relationship” and one-sided conversations he has with the skeleton he gifted his husband. This skeleton constantly reminds him, "'You are going to die,'" and effectively creeps him out (Sedaris 155). Although Sedaris does not explicitly explain the connection to this chapter's title, "memento mori” is the idea that this skeleton reminds him of his inevitable death. "Memento mori" is Latin for "remember you must die" and describes objects in artwork or everyday life that remind people of their mortality ("Memento mori"). I was going to attempt to discuss some things in my life that are memento mori, but I came up empty. Of course, I get the occasional existential thought that I am going to die one day, much like anyone else. However, I am not reminded of that fact or worry about it often enough to have objects in my life that serve as memento mori. With that being said, I thought about how I could still discuss this idea. After some brainstorming, I came up with "memento mulier," which is loose Latin, courtesy of Google Translate, for "remember you are a woman." There are a number of objects and experiences in my day-to-day life that remind me that I am female, or the "lesser sex." Thus, with this blog post, I would like to share a short list of "memento mulier," or things that tell me I am a woman. 

My Memento mulier 

1. The expensive feminine hygiene products I buy every month 

This memento has to do a bit with nature and the biology of being a woman, but it also deals with inequality. On International Women's Day, I saw an Instagram post titled "If men had to pay for toilet paper." This video included a very interesting experiment in which men had to pay for toilet paper in a restroom, much like women have to pay for tampons (if they are even available). If the men did not have any quarters, they had to post about period rights for women (Okamoto). Here is a link to the video if you would like to watch it. I absolutely loved it! 

https://www.instagram.com/p/B9eTfD9nDZA/  

2. I am told to smile while minding my own business. 

Being told to smile is a near exclusive thing that happens to women. (I honestly doubt any guy has been asked to smile by another man or a woman in this way.) It does not discriminate where you are or what you are doing either. I was even asked to smile while completely zoned out around 10pm at Food Lion with no customers. This old man walked by me and told me to smile, in a very sassy way too, even though I was extremely tired and also not even paying attention out of sheer boredom due to how slow it was that evening. As I am typing all of this out, trying to defend why I was not already smiling, I realize that there is something else that reminds me I am a woman... 

3. I constantly feel the need to explain myself, especially if I am doing something "unladylike." 

Just like I was defending why I was not smiling for this creep, I am often explaining myself as a woman. If I am ever in a position of power, which is a feat in itself, I am apologetic or constantly explaining why I am "being bossy." Similarly, I am so afraid of appearing unladylike, that I overcompensate by always adding explanation points to my sentences to seem happy or refraining from vulgar language to seem sweet and virginal. 

4. The fad diet coffee I bought for an outrageous price 

I once bought an embarrassing number of bags of "Keto coffee" in an effort to lose weight. The stress of college and life in general made me gain weight, and I am currently very unhappy with my body.  Society grooms us women to hate our bodies anyway, weight fluctuation or not. Instagram accounts that make money off of vulnerable young women preyed on me, and I ended up buying this weight loss product from one of them. The coffee did not help and was a giant waste of money. FYI this keto coffee tastes disgusting on a whole new level and is basically like drinking liquified butter and dirt. It is great. 

5. Sexist pigs in general 

The sexist pigs I have to deal with, especially at work, remind me the most that I am a woman. I would not have to listen to rude misogynistic comments or marriage proposals from COMs (creepy old men) if I was male. Similarly, I would not have to worry about my safety when certain older men come into the store that have a history with sexual harassment. These kinds of men remind me daily that I will always be treated as a sexual object and a sounding board for their hideously out-of-date viewpoints and ideals. 

In addition to these main "memento mulier," there are littler objects that remind me of being a woman that include but are not limited to: my pepper spray, my spanx, demeaning social media posts, articles, magazines, and other forms of entertainment, my future pay check that will most likely be less than my male coworkers, and catcalls. There are so many more, and I encourage you to share some of yours in the comments. The strongest thing we have as women is solidarity, and I believe that our unity can beat any of the constant reminders that we are not enough. Together we are everything. 

Works Cited 

“Memento mori– Art Term.” Tate, 1 Jan. 1997, www.tate.org.uk/art/art-terms/m/memento-mori. 

Okamoto, Nadya. "If men had to pay for toilet paper." Instagram, https://www.instagram.com/p/B9eTfD9nDZA/. 

Sedaris, David. "Memento Mori." When You Are Engulfed in Flames. Little, Brown and Company, 2008, p. 155.